


it's too cold outside for angels to fly

by ShanleenKinnJaskey



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Christian Blaine, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Feels, Found Family, Gen, His family is, Homophobia, M/M, Papa Bear Burt, Season/Series 02, ish, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanleenKinnJaskey/pseuds/ShanleenKinnJaskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think my dad built a car with me because he loves cars? I think he did it because he thought getting my hands dirty would make me straight."<br/>Blaine's hands fly to his mouth as he realizes what he's said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel," he says, attempting desperately to fix his breach of etiquette, "I didn’t mean to shout at you, that was really impolite of me-"<br/>But Mr. Hummel isn't mad, he's just looking at Blaine with a strangely pensive frown on his face like he's trying to puzzle something out. "Kid," he says gently, "Do you have anyone who you can talk to about being gay?"<br/>Blaine stares at Mr. Hummel, the answer caught in his throat. <em>No</em>, he wants to say, wants to laugh bitterly in accompaniment to, <em>not unless you consider lectures on my sin 'talking'.</em><br/>Somehow he doesn't think that is the answer that Burt Hummel, one of the most accepting men Blaine has ever met, is looking for.</p><p>A character study, in parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's too cold outside for angels to fly

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "A Team" by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> Inspired by a gif I saw of the moment where Blaine says "You think my dad built a car with me because he loves cars? I think he did it because he thought getting my hands dirty would make me straight."

"You think my dad built a car with me because he loves cars? I think he did it because he thought getting my hands dirty would make me straight."

Blaine's hands fly to his mouth as he realizes what he's said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel," he says, attempting desperately to fix his breach of etiquette, "I didn’t mean to shout at you, that was really impolite of me-"

But Mr. Hummel isn't mad, he's just looking at Blaine with a strangely pensive frown on his face like he's trying to puzzle something out. "Kid," he says gently, "Do you have anyone who you can talk to about being gay?"

Blaine stares at Mr. Hummel, the answer caught in his throat. _No_ , he wants to say, wants to laugh bitterly in accompaniment to, _not unless you consider lectures on my sin 'talking'._

Somehow he doesn't think that is the answer that Burt Hummel, one of the most accepting men Blaine has ever met, is looking for.

* * *

Blaine was eager to latch onto the spark he thought he felt between him and Rachel, completely ignoring what strange emotions he thought he was beginning to feel towards his male best friend, because it would just be easier to deal with his family if he was straight. No glaring, no homophobic slurs, no constant reminders that "son, you're living in sin." No disapproval, no stares ranging between disappointed and angry, no being told that his love is nothing but a sickness, an abomination.

(That he is nothing but an abomination.)

Kissing her sober had been both a burden and a relief, because yes he was gay and back to being tormented by his family's words, but he didn't feel like he was selling out on what could be the best, most wonderful thing about him.

* * *

He's out to everyone, and at Dalton that's okay, but he can't help but wonder who there is still stuck in old-fashioned conservative thinking and secretly hates him and who he is. He can't help but wonder who secretly wishes he burns in hell. He can't help but wonder who secretly wants him to die for who he is.

He can't help but wonder who wishes he'd never been born.

* * *

"I accept you no matter what," Blaine's father never said.

"There are things more important than religion," Blaine's grandmother never said.

"It doesn't matter what the pastor says. You're my nephew and I'll support you," Blaine's uncle never said.

"I understand that it's not a choice," Blaine grandfather never said.

"I love you for you," Blaine's mother never said.

* * *

He meets Burt Hummel for the first time at a football game at which he cheers on the girls on the New Directions as hard as the boys who would normally be on the field. He watches as Burt ruffles his son's hair over Kurt's cries of "Dad, don't mess up my hair!" He sees the way Burt smiles at his son as Kurt goes on a tangent about Dalton that somehow incorporates current fashion, the Warblers, and football.

(Blaine has no idea how he does it.)

It takes a few minutes before Blaine even gets introduced, but it's fine. Blaine's used to it, and somehow it doesn't hurt as much because Kurt's so excited, obviously forgetting about him for a few minutes only because he hasn't seen his dad in so long. When Blaine gets introduced, Burt Hummel stares him down like he's some strange interloper before extending a hand to shake.

"Burt Hummel," he says, "You must be Blaine Anderson, that boy my son keeps talking about." He doesn't say _that boy_ like Blaine's mom does, like it's a dirty, disgusting thing, but rather just with a slight tone of suspicion.

"Yes, sir," Blaine says, manners automatically kicking in.

Burt looks him over and then grins, gripping Blaine's hand in a firm grasp. "I think you'll do just fine."

That's not what he expected at all.

* * *

The summer after Blaine came out, the summer after he'd nearly been beaten to a pulp, his father told him to change into a pair of stained jeans and a t-shirt because they were going to rebuild a car.

He spent the whole time resisting the urge to dance along to the radio and biting back errant snatches of song, pushing down who he was and playing the role he was raised to play.

(Not the one he was born to play- he can't do that now, not yet. His family wouldn't understand.)

* * *

Blaine doesn't know how they've gotten here, to this point in a garage where he's talking about thoughts he's never admitted to anyone before- that his father didn't care about bonding this summer but rather making him straight, that when he came out he lost his family, that his parents' religious beliefs are more important to them than he is.

"Kiddo," Burt says again, the furrow between his brows increasing, "You doing okay?"

Blaine nods quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. And to answer your question..." He swallows, steadying his breathing. "No, I don't. Have anyone to talk about, that is."

Burt looks at him, stares hard at Blaine for a long moment, and sets down the grease-covered rag he was holding in his hand on the bench next to him. "I'm not the best about talking about this kind of thing," he says, "But if you don't have anyone, then I'm here. So, Blaine Anderson, tell me what you just meant when you were just talking about your father."

For a moment Blaine can only look back at him, take in the weariness and warmth in Burt Hummel's face, before he can speak. He sees the earnestness in Burt Hummel's expression, the honesty in his face and actions, and he begins to speak.


End file.
